


Let That Be Your Last...

by ArvenaPeredhel



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Gore, the worst AU ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 19:35:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14003160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/pseuds/ArvenaPeredhel
Summary: Elrond's sons were captured along with their mother, and something is lost in the pits below.





	Let That Be Your Last...

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably never be finished, but I wanted to post it for posterity's sake.

One strike from the pommel of his sword was enough to snap the lock. The iron-barred door creaked open, and the smell of death filled the air.

"I need more light." he said, and Maranwë passed him a torch as he stepped into the dark cell, its flame scattering long shadows and casting a sickly light out against the darkness. He fought back the urge to retch.

The stones were stained red, and ichor clung to his boots with every step. Iron bands in the wall marked where prisoners had been shackled before; if he focused he could see chains and evil-looking hooks in the gloom overhead. Behind him, he could hear Celebrían weeping, and before him...

... before him.

His son lay motionless on the floor, blood seeping from a thousand wounds; each of his ragged gasps for air sounded like the cry of a wounded animal.

Elrond sank to his knees, dropping the torch.

"Elrohir?" he called, inching forward across the bloody floor. " _Ion-nîn_?"

The torch sputtered; there was a long and dreadful silence before the next jagged breath, and Elrond's hand found his son's in the half-dark.

"Ada..." Elrohir murmured, his voice a broken whisper. "I'm... I'm sorry..."

"No." Elrond said, and the sternness crept back into his words. "The fault is mine." He was beside Elrohir now, his other hand on the youth's shoulder. He could see his son's chest shifting unevenly as he fought to breathe, and a cold dread set into his bones.

"I... I tried..." Elrohir said weakly, and there were tears in his eyes, "... tried to keep them safe, I'm sorry."

"You did a fine job." Elrond replied, his hands shaking. "Your mother will live." _Though I know not what her scars will be._

"What... what about... about El..." Each word was a struggle, and the tension was evident in dislocated joints and straining muscles.

"Your brother is safe." Elrond replied, cursing himself for the lie. "The orcs left him alone."

"Kept their promise." Elrohir murmured, gripping his father's hand as his body twisted on itself in a violent spasm. "Surprised."

"Lie still." Elrond said, though he knew in his heart there was nothing he could do here, far from the land he was guardian of and the sanctity of his healing halls. "Let me see to your wounds."

His son laughed, almost bitterly, and shook his head. "You're... a terrible liar... Ada..."

"Worse than you?" the lord of Imladris asked, a low chuckle building in his chest despite the fear. "I doubt that."

Elrohir shifted closer to where his father knelt, weeping in earnest now. "Where... where's... is Naneth..."

"Outside." Elrond said, still holding his son's hand. "She's with the honor guard. They'll look after her." _She's sick, and weak, and too wounded to move, but she will live. But the price..._

His son's breath was coming in low rasps now. "Tell her..." he murmured, every word torn from unwilling lips, "tell her I... I love..."

The words trailed off, leaving bloodstained silence in their wake. 

Elrond screamed.


End file.
